


Bad Taste (Let Me Replace It)

by J_D_McCormick



Category: Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, PWF, Past Child Abuse, Porn with Feelings, inconvenient times to remember your shitty mother, john's peculiar brand of showing you care while trying not to make it obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_D_McCormick/pseuds/J_D_McCormick
Summary: Chas swallows lightly before trying to open his mouth up to take more of John in, and several things happen at once. He pushes himself further down John’s length; John’s hips flex, making his cock press heavy against his tongue; and John’s hand presses briefly at the back of his head, encouraging.He gets a flash memory, his old house back in London, Queenie yelling at him to be fucking quiet, ectoplasmic tendrils binding tight around his wrists, his ankles, his chest, shoving into his mouth and wrapping around his head to muffle his attempts to cry.
Relationships: Chas Chandler/John Constantine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Bad Taste (Let Me Replace It)

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive the pretentious looking title I literally could not think of anything better lmao.
> 
> I was in the middle of a different fic and this idea slammed me in the face so what the hell. I wrote it. Definitely didn't expect it to end up over 2000 words long but hey, more for you guys. Enjoy.

They grab a room together at the latest hotel stop on their tour. Gary and Les have taken a second room on the floor above, and Beano is sleeping out in the van, saying he’d rather be there than trying to cram into a bed with someone else. It’s a good thing, too.

It means there’s nothing to stop John kissing Chas hard as soon as they get into a room, hot and desperate already as he shoves him up against the door and presses hands under his shirt. Chas barely thinks of anything except getting his hands on as much of John as possible, peeling off his leather jacket and pulling up his t-shirt between messy kisses. John is making wonderful noises as Chas herds him back towards the bed, forces him back until he’s sat on the edge and Chas is leaning over him.

“I’ve got an idea.” He breathes against John’s jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble catch his lips as he makes his way to suck at a spot below John’s ear he knows drives him crazy.

“Oh yeah?” John pants back, voice hitching higher with pleasure, even though he’s trying to pretend it isn’t. “What kind of an idea? One that gets me off, I hope.”

Chas laughs, nipping at John lightly. “That’s the plan.” He agrees.

John groans as he sucks a light mark at the base of his throat, the kind that will fade by morning – John’d love to be marked up more thoroughly, Chas is sure, but they have three bandmates they’re touring with, and they’d never live it down. Chas moves his mouth instead, tracing a path down John’s chest, across a pectoral to lave brief attention to a nipple before continuing down his midline, over the pale expanse of his stomach. John has already done so many things for him, sucked him off, ridden him, let Chas rut into his body until he came. He thinks it’s only right he return the favour.

He hears John’s breath hitch a little, as he seems to figure out what it is Chas is gunning for and looks up, sees his friend staring down at him with dark, hooded eyes. That alone is enough for Chas to think that trying this out is the right choice – getting to see John this way, looking at him like he’s the hottest thing on earth, is something he reckons he might do anything for.

“Y’sure, Chas?” John asks him quietly, brushing a hand over his cheek. Chas twists to kiss John’s thumb, then continues his way down, open mouthed kisses against John’s belly, following the trail of hair to the waistband of his stupidly fitted jeans. Chas tugs them off, rough and uncaring, pulling John’s pants with them as he does. John groans, throwing his head back, arms shuddering as they support him upright at the edge of the bed.

John is hard already, and as Chas reaches to wrap his hand around him, he sees him twitch. It goes straight to his own cock, making him groan as he buries his face in John’s hip for a moment to calm himself down.

John’s hand is gentle through his hair, teasing out the last of his gelled spikes.

“I’ve not done this before.” Chas murmurs, turning and pressing his lips to John’s shaft, messily kissing up from the base the same way he’d kissed his way down John’s body. The taste of him is heady, musk and sweat, but Chas doesn’t mind it as much as he’d thought he might. “So y’ can’t laugh at me if I’m shit, alright?”

John snorts, though it’s followed by a groan as Chas presses the flat of his tongue just under the head of his cock. “Promise I won’t.” He smirks. “’Sides, it’s hard to be too shit at blowing someone.”

Chas hums, and decides to test that theory by taking John carefully into his mouth.

“ _Haah_ … shit, Chas…” John breathes above him, hand moving restlessly over Chas’ head. Chas adjusts the way he’s holding his jaw, rubbing his tongue up against John’s prick as he sucks a little, tries to get a feel for what he’s doing. If the punched-out little sound John makes is any indication, he’s on the right track.

He moves his head shallowly, focusing on just the tip for the time being, using his hand to stroke at the rest. He finds himself relaxing into it, into the regular, unhurried pace, the weight of John’s cock on his tongue, John’s hand in his hair and his ragged breaths seeming to surround him. He can feel the tension in John’s body where he’s resting his hands on John’s hips, feel his muscles flexing as he tries not to buck into Chas’ mouth. Chas suddenly wants to see that control faulter, wants to drive John mad with what he’s doing.

He swallows lightly before trying to open his mouth up to take more in, and several things happen at once. He pushes himself further down John’s length; John’s hips flex, making his cock press heavy against his tongue; and John’s hand presses briefly at the back of his head, encouraging.

He gets a flash memory, his old house back in London, Queenie yelling at him to be fucking quiet, ectoplasmic tendrils binding tight around his wrists, his ankles, his chest, shoving into his mouth and wrapping around his head to muffle his attempts to cry.

He chokes and splutters as he pulls himself backwards, yanking himself away from John’s hands and crashing back against the shitty chest of drawers in their latest shitty hotel room.

“Woah, hey, Chas. Mate, what’s wrong?” Chas hears John’s voice before he registers his face – close, now, since at some point he’s gotten up from the bed and knelt down in front of Chas. Chas doesn’t know when he did that, and he doesn’t know when his breath started coming quick and hard. John rests a warm hand over his sternum. “Hey, just breathe, yeah?”

“My- My mum.” Chas pants out, and realises this is the last thing John probably wants to hear about, having just had his prick down Chas’ throat. “I told you the- ectoplasm shit. She used to gag me with it, if I cried too loud.”

He feels embarrassingly like he might start crying now, and he rubs a brisk hand over his face. John’s eyes are sad when he looks up at them, but not in the pitying way he’s seen sometimes, when he lets slip how bad his mum was to other people. There’s something understanding in there, and Chas remembers John, head bent low, voice thick as he played with an empty beer bottle and explained the neat little burn scars on his inner elbow.

John’s hand cups his jaw, and tilts his head up into a gentle kiss. It’s not like most of the other kisses he’s shared with John, wild and brisk, teeth and tongue and desperation – this one is almost sweet, just John’s lips moving against his. Chas sighs into the kiss quietly, and John shifts to be sitting in his lap, his weight warm and steady.

“She can’t hurt you now, Chas.” John says softly, hands stroking Chas’ cheeks, drifting down to rub at his sides. “And I won’t ever hurt you. Not like that.”

“I know.” Chas breathes, leaning into the touches, bringing up his hands to rest at John’s hips, grip the solid shape of him. “I know you’d never. I just… remembered it.”

John nods. “We’ll put your ambitions to be a master cocksucker on the backburner then, eh?” He teases with an easy grin, and as Chas gives a breathless laugh he’s endlessly grateful to John for not making a big deal of it all, not treating him like a glass figure, not pulling away and putting distance in between them while he tries to find some nice words that could never fix the mess in Chas’ head. Just acknowledges it and lets it be, carries right on like it’s a landmark, not a hurdle.

“For now, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. Or make me cum.” John’s lips are still quirked in a grin, and he reaches down to palm at Chas’s cock. He’s flagged some, to no surprise, but the warmth of John’s palm and the weight of his body is quick to encourage him up again. John tugs down the waistband of his boxers, just enough to pull his cock out from them. Chas groans softly, able to feel his blood running south again.

“Now what you’re going to do,” John murmurs, eyes lowered, voice husky and rough as he reaches and takes Chas’ hand in his own, “is wrap your hand around us, wank us off, and watch me.”

John meets Chas’ lidded gaze, stormy blue against chocolate brown, sparking electricity down his spine. He obeys easily, both of them drawing gasping breaths of the same warm air as Chas’s hand closes around them. The feeling of John’s cock against his is more than enough to make up for the brief pause, the feeling of their skin sliding together ridiculously good.

John seems to agree, moaning lowly, winding his arms around Chas’ neck and rolling his hips in smooth strokes that rub them together perfectly. He’s a certain kind of gorgeous like this, hair more mussed than usual, face pink, lips parted and eyes closed as he focuses on the pleasure, lithe body moving with it, muscles shifting under pale skin and stark black tattoos. John is all angles and lines, not a single thing soft about him, but Chas has never wanted somebody more.

“So good, Chas.” John breathes, leaning forward, pressing their foreheads together. Chas moves his hand a little faster, squeezes his grip a little tighter, and a low groan slips out from John’s throat. Chas watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs. “So fuckin’ good to me. Not a reason in the world to be, yet you’re still bloody perfect.”

Chas shakes his head a little, opens his mouth to protest, but John cups his cheeks and stares him in the eyes.

“Don’t matter what nobody else has said.” He says, voice breathless but tone firm. “You listen to me now, Chas. You’re so fuckin’ good. Y’re the first person to make me believe it, that people can be good. Haven’t met a single one in my bloody life til _you_. And if anyone tried to hurt you, _I’d kill ‘em_.”

Chas sees how much he means it – _knows_ how much he means it. John can be terrifying, crackling power and sharp words, far more capable in magic than Queenie ever was. But John would never hurt him. John is – quite literally – in the palm of his hand, and John wants to be there.

“John.” He breathes, and it sounds wounded even to his own ears.

“C’mon Chas.” John murmurs. His breaths are coming in quick little pants, his hips stuttering, and Chas recognises all these signs. “Make me cum.”

Chas surges forward, kissing John deep and hard and messy, listens to him moan into it. He pulls back to mouth at John’s throat, twists his wrist on the upstroke, and that does it – John clutches convulsive and tight to his shoulders, letting out a string of wonderful noises as his back bows and he comes in hot spurts over Chas’ hand. Just those noises alone are enough to tip Chas over, following after John with a low gasp of his own. He milks them both through it, until John collapses forward against his chest and rests his head on Chas’ shoulder, panting against his neck.

“Fuck me.” He mutters, and Chas laughs.

“Maybe in half an hour.” He teases, wiping his hand off on the carpet. It’s a shitty hotel anyway. They can deal with cleaning it.

John chuckles, carefully pulling himself upright. “Someone’s real ambitious tonight.” He grins. “But right now, I could murder a beer and some Chinese. Whaddya say?”

Chas would say that John is a soft touch, if anyone would ever believe him. He’d say that John suggests Chinese every time Chas is feeling down, or John decides he needs treating, and that he suspects it’s because he told John that nothing could beat a Chinese takeout for comfort food. He’d say that running off with John to tour with Mucous Membrane was the best idea of his life.

“Sounds like a plan.” He nods, and doesn’t say any of that.

**Author's Note:**

> And so... I use smut as a character study. Again. I'm also completely incapable of sticking to one canon, lmao, I am so sorry.
> 
> Any and all feedback is hugely appreciated! Thanks for reading.


End file.
